


For Rent

by Sexxica



Series: Rentboy Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captain John Watson, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Eyeliner, Lap Sex, M/M, Military Kink, Name-Calling, Praise Kink, Prostitute Sherlock, Prostitution, Rentboys, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sherlock in Heels, Sherlock in Makeup, Sherlock is a Brat, Spanking, Unsafe Sex, rentboy sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs to let off some steam.  What better way to do it than by hiring the prettiest rentboy on the block?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Rent

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful betas: [Liz](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/), [Olivia](http://jqhnlock.tumblr.com/), [Mandi](http://type40consultingdetective.tumblr.com/), and [Di](http://beautifullyheeled.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> [Don't forget to follow my new writing blog on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)

John Watson was frustrated in every sense of the word.  He was so wound up he felt he was about to snap -- and in fact  _did_ snap, frequently.  Primarily at other people who had done nothing in particular wrong.  

He fiddled with the card Mike Stanford had given him, turning it over and over again, looking at the quickly scrawled address on it.  “You need to blow off some steam, mate.” Mike had said, lowering his voice to a whisper as he pulled out the card and added: “The boys around here are the best and won’t cost you your whole pension.”  John had scoffed, but Mike tucked the card into John’s shirt pocket.  “Just, think about it, yeah? You’ll feel a lot better after a bit of rough.”

The thing was, John knew he would.  And he knew he didn’t want to have to go through the hassle of meeting someone, taking them out to dinner, hoping they hit it off and then having to bring them back to his sad little bedsit and hope again that it wouldn’t scare them off.  The effort it would take for the small talk alone just didn’t seem worth it. 

John also couldn’t help but think just how badly he had fucked up his last real relationship.  James had loved him.  Honest to god loved him and John couldn’t get his shit together long enough to realize it before it was too late and John had already pushed him away.  John pushed everyone away.  Trust issues, his therapist insisted.

He sighed, put the card in his pocket and pulled on his jacket.  It wouldn’t hurt to at least have a look.

A stop at a cash point (just in case) and a few tube stops later and John was nearing the address on the card.  He could feel the heavy bass of club music in his chest almost before he could hear it, but John wasn’t here to go inside the club.  No, the real business happened on the streets outside it.

John tried to be casual, keep his hands out of his pockets, just a bloke having an evening stroll.  Yeah, right.  An evening stroll along a street where every few paces was some tempting bit of arse in all shapes and sizes - and they were all for sale.  Well, for rent, at least.

“Hiya, Daddy.” one of them strode alongside him and grabbed his upper arm.  He had gleaming dark skin, a wide smile, gorgeous toned legs.  John licked his lips but gently shook him off.  He didn’t want to be anyone’s Daddy, not tonight.

“No thanks,” John smiled tightly.

The man shrugged.  “Your loss, Daddy.  Come back for me when none of these other tarts do it for you.”

John kept walking.  

“You don’t want those muscly boys, do ya, Daddy?”  A short, plump girl with ample cleavage and her hair in pigtails said as he walked past, her nose wrinkling at the mention of boys.  “You need a little girl.”

Again John smiled politely and waved her off.  

All sorts of men, women, and everything in between smiled at him as he walked.  Some called out to him, asking if he wanted to have some fun.  So many were attractive, John could see himself with some of them, but no one really caught his interest.

“They’ve got it wrong, haven’t they?”

John was startled by the voice so close behind him - he hadn’t even noticed anyone walk up next to him.  “Pardon me?” John asked, stopping in his tracks and turning to face the source of the voice.  He was met with a boyish grin, and a pair of shifting blue-green eyes framed with thick black liner.

“They’ve got it wrong.”  The boy said, matter-of-factly, looking John up and down.  “It’s Captain, not Daddy.  Maybe Doctor sometimes, but primarily Captain.”  The boy bit his pink-glossed bottom lip as if nervous about John’s reaction.

There was only one reaction John _could_ give, really, given the sharp, almost urgent spike of arousal that shot through him at the boy’s clever deduction, and the implication that he knew just what John needed.  “That’s amazing.  Incredible.  How much?”  

The boy grinned a bit madly for a moment before schooling his features and scanning John again.  John just looked up at him with an amused smile, realizing a bit belatedly how gorgeous he was.  Dark, curly hair, long, slender limbs, and that mouth.  John bet that mouth made him as much money as it did trouble.  The boy was head and shoulders taller than John in a pair of black high heels.  Black socks went up over his knees, leaving an enticing stretch of pale skin between the tops of his socks and where his very short, very tight shorts started.  A rich purple tshirt hung loosely off one shoulder, showing off the sharp angle of his collarbone which was highlighted by the liberal application of glitter.

“You can afford me.”  The boy eventually answered with a wink before he stepped up to the curb and seemed to summon a cab out of the very air.  He bent over before he slid into the backseat gracefully, giving John a good look at his perfect arse in those, tight, short shorts.  They were cut so high John could see the crease where creamy thighs turned into plump buttocks. John hesitated for a moment, leaning down to peer into the cab.

“I don’t even know your name, or where we’re going.”

“It’s Sherlock, and we’re going to your place, obviously.” Sherlock crossed his long legs and settled back against the seat as if he were sure John would get in.  He was right, as it turned out, and John scooted in next to him with only another second of consideration.

They didn’t talk in the cab.  Didn’t talk on the short walk up to John’s dingy little bedsit.  But, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind them John felt he had to.  “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve…”

“Mmm worried about performance, Sir?” Sherlock interrupted with a smirk.

John huffed out a harsh breath.  “No, what I’m asking is…”

“Because men _your_ age often…”

Oh, that did it.  John slammed Sherlock up against the door, pinning his wrists next to his head and pressing his whole body into him.  “Listen here you little cockslut, I want to know how much you cost and what I get to do to you for that price.  Understood?”

Sherlock let out a quiet groan, almost melting into John’s solid grip.  “There’s my Captain.  What you have in your wallet is sufficient and you can do or have done whatever you like within the bounds of reason for it.  But, I think we both know what we like … Sir.”  Sherlock rolled his hips with that, his erection pressing into John’s stomach as John felt his own push into the soft flesh of Sherlock’s thigh.

John’s chest heaved as he had to haul breath into himself.  He had no idea he was that hard already.  He shoved a knee between Sherlock’s legs, and ground against him.  “Kissing?” John asked, his voice rough.

“Bounds of reason.” Sherlock echoed childishly, his eyes sparkling.  

 _Brat_ , John thought.  He growled in response and crushed their mouths together.  Sherlock tasted of mint and strawberries and the gloss on his lips was sticky.  John set to work licking it off him, biting at Sherlock’s lips, making him moan.  John pushed his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, tasting him deeper, an edge of cigarette smoke now as they writhed against each other.  Too many clothes.  Far too many clothes.

John backed off, panting a little as he threw his jacket on his desk, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, adding it to the pile.  He toed off his shoes and pulled his socks off, but left his jeans for now.  Sherlock watched him closely the whole time, lips trapped in his teeth and eyes wide and cheeks flushed, his erection straining against the limited space inside his shorts.  He looked like a perfect whore.

“Oh.” Sherlock said, low and breathy as he looked at John’s scar - the flesh knit so roughly back together that it would be raised and angry-looking for the rest of John’s life.  It wasn’t pity that John heard in that one little exclamation though, only fascination.

John stepped back up to Sherlock, wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s thin waist.  Sherlock’s fingers went immediately to his shoulder, touching and tracing the ruined flesh without any hesitation, any sense of disgust or horror - just a fervent curiosity.  Then John had to throw his head back as Sherlock pressed his mouth to the scar, licking at it then across John’s collarbone and up his neck, over the chain of his dog tags to his ear.    

“Come on, Sir, what are your orders?” Sherlock purred at him and John crowded him against the door again.  He slid his hands up under Sherlock’s shirt, over his taut stomach and prominent ribs to tease and pinch at his peaked nipples.  Sherlock mewled at the attention, his eyelids fluttering shut and his head thudding lightly against the door.  John licked and sucked and bit at the column of his neck, undoubtedly leaving marks, but Sherlock didn’t seem to care.  In fact, he seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

John pulled Sherlock’s shirt off, bending to tease the boy’s nipples with his mouth this time.  The grainy texture of the glitter he seemed to be covered in didn’t sway John one bit, as he licked and kissed over Sherlock’s chest, his fingers slotting neatly into the hollows between Sherlock’s ribs.  John raised his head back up to kiss Sherlock hard on the mouth again while he undid his belt and the button and zip on his jeans.  “Show me what you can do with that mouth of yours.  Something better than being an insufferable brat I hope.”  John smirked wickedly.

“Of course, Captain.”  Sherlock smiled as he sunk down to his knees.

John pushed his jeans and pants down his thighs, resting one hand against the door.  He fully expected Sherlock to pull a condom out from somewhere and roll it on him, but he didn’t, he just wrapped his fingers around John’s thick cock and opened his mouth wide.  “Wait, don’t you want…”

“Unnecessary.  Your last sexual partner was over six months ago and given your profession you’ve been tested since then.  And given _my_ profession I’m tested weekly.  Do you need me to go get my papers, Sir?”  Sherlock gave him a calculating smile as he ran his thumb over the head of John’s cock, smearing a bead of precome.

John felt his knees go a little weak at the touch.  “F-fuck, no.”  John was desperate to fill that aggravating mouth now.  He fisted his free hand into Sherlock’s hair and urged him forward.  Sherlock obliged, sinking his wet lips down around John’s cock with a moan.  John groaned in return, his chin pressed to his chest to watch Sherlock work.   

And work he did.  Sherlock’s mouth was like some sort of heaven - his tongue and lips working in perfect tandem to give just the right amount of suction and stimulation.  John couldn’t help but thrust into it, keeping a tight hold on Sherlock’s hair.  He felt Sherlock open up his throat for him, let John slide all the way in.  John groaned deeply, pressing Sherlock’s nose right into his pubic hair, watched as tears started to gather in his eyes as his airway was cut off.  Listened to Sherlock as he gurgled around his thick cock, his fingers twitching where they lay on John’s thighs.

John held him there until the tears spilled over, tracking eyeliner-stained streaks down his cheeks.  He pulled out then, his cock shiny with Sherlock’s spit as he watched Sherlock gasp in a rough breath, looking up at him with dark eyes.  John untangled his fingers from Sherlock’s hair and wiped the stained tears off his cheeks with his thumb.  “You like that, don’t you?”  He growled.  

“Love it, Sir.” Sherlock purred back at him.  “You should make me choke on it.” he said, rubbing his hands on John’s thighs, looking up at him coyly.  

John could have come right then, all over that pretty face.  “Jesus.” he muttered under his breath, pushing his cock back into Sherlock’s enthusiastic mouth.  Sherlock moaned around it, his eyes closing, his tongue snaking against the underside as John pressed in.  

He gripped onto Sherlock’s hair again, a bit tighter this time, and started to thrust his hips forward and back - building up the speed and force until he was fucking Sherlock’s mouth, panting as he did.  Sherlock just moaned or made wet choking noises whenever John was shoved all the way down his throat, tears streaming down his cheeks the whole time.  It was rough and sloppy and John felt absolutely blissful.  

“God, your mouth.  You take it so well.” John groaned out.  “Fuck!  Look at you.  Such a fucking cockslut for your Captain, aren’t you?”  His hips were moving of almost their own accord now, his tags making tinny little noises when they hit against his chest as he slammed himself down Sherlock’s throat through the tight seal of his lips.  It was a world of wet friction, perfect pressure, and John was just about over the edge.

Then he _was_ over the edge, his cock pulsing as he came with a shout, spilling his load right down Sherlock’s throat.  Sherlock’s hand was on John’s balls, tugging lightly while one finger pressed up against the sensitive bit of skin behind them.  It was blindingly good and John could hardly even breathe as it seemed to go on for an age.  He shuddered and felt his thighs tremble, felt Sherlock swallow around him as his clever tongue swirled around the head, lapped gently against the slit.

John straightened up, disentangling his fingers from Sherlock’s hair.  Sherlock pulled off of his cock with a lewd pop, licking his lips and wiping his chin on the back of his hand, smiling wantonly up at John.  He looked debauched - his eyeliner smudged and tracked down his cheeks, his lips red and the outline of his hard cock clearly visible through his tight shorts.  He was sitting on the floor now, his long legs splayed out.

John pulled his pants up, tucked himself away, but stepped out of his jeans.  He put a hand down to help Sherlock off the floor, then pinned him to the door again with a kiss.  “You have a brilliant mouth.”  John said, his voice low and rough.  “Too bad you have to use it to be such an annoying little shit.”  John felt Sherlock smirk against his mouth, and interrupted whatever he was about to say by moving his hand down between them and giving Sherlock’s cock a squeeze through his shorts.

Sherlock whined and his hips thrust forward into John’s hand.  John pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s ear and whispered, “Now _that_ is the kind of noise I like to hear.”  John slipped his hands inside the stretchy material of Sherlock’s shorts, grabbing his arse cheeks, appreciating how firm yet yielding they felt before he slipped Sherlock’s shorts down his thighs.  “Shoes off, the socks stay.”  John ordered.  “Get on the bed on your knees.”

John took a step back and watched as a shiver ran through Sherlock’s body before he stepped out of his shorts and shoes, suddenly much shorter now, and walked over to the bed, doing just as he was told.  John admired the curve of Sherlock’s arse, the way his spine dipped and his shoulder blades moved smoothly under all that pale skin.  He grabbed the bottle of lube off his nightstand and stood next to the bed, running his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s body from the nape of his neck all the way down to his tailbone.  “Very nice.” he mumbled.

Sherlock seemed to glow with the praise, ducking his head in hopes that John wouldn’t notice the way he blushed, but John did.  John could be very observant when he had a mind to be, and when that observing involved someone as attractive as Sherlock, he definitely had a mind to be.    

 John climbed up on the bed to kneel beside Sherlock, pouring some lube on his fingers and steadying one hand on Sherlock’s lower back as he pressed his slick fingers between Sherlock’s arse cheeks.  Sherlock gasped quietly as John spread the lube around, slowly exploring the pucker of Sherlock’s arsehole.  

He slipped a finger inside and Sherlock groaned.  He was remarkably tight, given his profession, and John took a moment to twist his finger inside that tightness.  “Lovely,”  John whispered and he felt Sherlock briefly clench even tighter around his finger.  John pushed his finger in deeper, a little roughly as Sherlock rocked back into him.  “You love it, don’t you?  Love being ordered about and treated like the whore you are, but you need me to tell you how good you are at it.  Isn’t that right?”

Sherlock gave a strangled moan, his head dropping down to the sheets, only opening himself up more for John.  John pushed a second slick finger in alongside the first, pumping them in and out of that tight hole.  “Say it, Sherlock.  Tell me what you like.”

John watched as Sherlock’s ribcage expanded, contracted with panted breaths, but he didn’t answer.  “Sherlock.”  John warned, his voice edged with a threat.  This time Sherlock whined, but again, didn’t answer.  

John tsked and pulled his fingers free, wiping them carelessly on the sheets.  Sherlock whined again, pushing his arse out in search of contact, which John was happy to provide.  The flat of his hand met the taut skin of Sherlock’s left arse cheek with a loud, sharp, _slap_ that echoed briefly in the small room.

Sherlock yelped, gasped, squirmed, but John kept him steady with the weight of his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back.  John watched as Sherlock’s pale skin turned quickly pink, then an angry red that was the perfect after-image of John’s own hand.  John evened Sherlock out, giving a matching mark to Sherlock’s other cheek.

“Tell me what you like.”  John commanded again.

“I-I like it when you order me about, Sir.”  Sherlock stuttered, his face pressed into the bed.

“And?”  John prompted.

“And when you treat me like a whore.”  he drawled out.

“What else?  What do you need?”  John let one finger brush lightly over Sherlock’s damp hole, making him shiver.

“I need you to tell me I’m good, Sir.” Sherlock moaned breathily and John made an affirmative noise in return.

“Start behaving yourself and maybe I will.”  John said, finding the lube and re-slicking his fingers, pushing two none too gently back inside him.

Sherlock groaned and arched his back, gripping fistfulls of the sheets.  John smirked to himself, he had barely gotten started.  He was going to drive Sherlock mad with his fingers and then fuck him until he came so hard he would see stars.

John scissored his fingers, thrust and wiggled them as he loosened Sherlock’s tight ring of muscles while avoiding his prostate.  He didn’t want to give him too much too soon, so John just focused on relaxing those rippling muscles, enjoying the noises he was already wringing from Sherlock.  Needy moans and breathless little sighs and gasps that made John’s cock twitch.  This boy was incredible - the sexiest thing John thought he had ever encountered, and he didn’t care how much it cost, he knew already that we wanted to have him again.  Would _need_ to have him again because nothing was going to compare to the way Sherlock moaned out _Sir_.

John had been fingering Sherlock’s arsehole for long minutes now, making wet noises and running his free hand over Sherlock’s hot skin.  Without warning he angled his fingers with doctorly precision and went straight for Sherlock’s prostate.  He didn’t brush it lightly, skirt the edge, give Sherlock time to adjust, no, he prodded it directly, dragging his fingertips over it with steady pressure.  Sherlock shouted and went stock still.

“Don’t you dare come.”  John growled, continuing his assault.

Sherlock nearly sobbed.  John could hear him drawing in broken breaths, trying to contain himself somehow.  His back was shiny with sweat now, slick, and he smelled like salt and musk and somehow still strawberries and John breathed him in, bent down to lick up his spine as his fingers still beat a vicious tempo inside him.

Sherlock bucked and shuddered, giving drawn out moans and short, choked cries as John slipped another finger into his unresisting hole.  He pumped all three in and out, hitting Sherlock’s prostate with nearly every stroke until the quivering of Sherlock’s thighs told John he had had enough.

“Very good, Sherlock.  Such a good little slut, listening to your Captain.”

Sherlock let out a shaking breath.  “Thank you, Sir.”  he said weakly.

John pulled his fingers out slowly, wiped them on the sheets again.  He stood up and pushed his pants off, kicking them away before he had a seat on the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor.  “Come on then,”  he said, patting Sherlock’s hip, “up in my lap.”

Sherlock wobbled a little on his knees before he steadied a hand on John’s shoulder and swung a leg (such long legs) over his lap to straddle him. John looked up at him.  He looked incredible - positively sinful and wrecked and like John could do absolutely anything to him and he would just beg for more.  His eyeliner was smudged even more now, his cheeks and chest flushed pink, and his cock hard and leaking copiously.

John ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, feeling the soft material of those tall socks.  He used one hand to spread Sherlock’s arse cheeks, and the other to grip the base of his own cock.  “Sit.”  John instructed and Sherlock lowered himself down.  John felt the tip of his cock push against the wet resistance of Sherlock’s hole, then felt it press inside.

Sherlock bit his lip, tipped his head back and groaned.  John couldn’t help it, he reached up to wrap a hand around that lovely pale throat, squeezing it for just a moment before slipping his hand around to grip tightly onto the nape of Sherlock’s neck.  Sherlock rested his hands high on John’s chest.

Sherlock sunk down fully, letting out a shaking breath and meeting John’s eyes.  John hummed and settled his hand on Sherlock’s thigh, pulling him in for a searing kiss with the other.  He thrust his hips up shallowly, enjoying the way Sherlock’s slick insides gripped onto him.  “Bloody hell you’re tight.”  John whispered against his mouth.  “Especially for a slut of a rentboy.”  John smirked at him, and thrust up harder, making Sherlock bounce in his lap.

“I don’t … I only fuck the ones I like.”  Sherlocked panted.  

“You mean you only fuck the ones who can put up with your smart mouth when it isn’t stuffed full of cock.”  John countered.

“Like I said, the ones I like, Sir.”  Sherlock said, bending his head to kiss John slowly, starting to move up and down on John’s stiff cock.

“Oh that’s it.  Ride me.”  John groaned.  He slid the hand on Sherlock’s neck up into his hair, grabbing a fistful and wrenching his head back sharply, leaving his throat bared for John to suck and bite at.  

Sherlock rolled his hips and bounced, using John’s shoulders for leverage and moaning wantonly, his cock dragging against John’s stomach.  John slid a hand up his thigh, over his sharp hipbone, then down the crack of his arse, feeling along the underside of his own cock and the stretched taut skin of Sherlock’s open hole where they met.  Sherlock gasped at the touch, and ground down hard, making them both groan.

Soon Sherlock’s thighs were trembling with the effort and John took mercy on him, wrapping his arms around him tightly and flipping them both over onto the bed.  John got quickly back between Sherlock’s thighs, sliding back into him with one rough thrust as Sherlock folded his long legs around him.  

John fucked him hard and fast, panting and moaning at the way Sherlock was coming completely undone.  Strings of broken-off curses and ‘please Sir’s’ came tumbling out of his mouth as he squirmed and clutched the sheets beneath John.  “You’re gonna come aren’t you?  Gonna - ahh - come all over yourself you filthy thing.”  John puffed.

“Yeess, Sir!”  Sherlock managed to drawl out.

“Let your Captain help you with that.”  John curled his fingers around Sherlock’s cock, jerking him off with fumbling strokes as he continued to fuck him.  It didn’t seem to matter though, because within seconds Sherlock was coming, open-mouthed but silent, his arsehole clenching down around John’s cock.

“Ooh fuck, that’s good.  Fuck!”  John shouted and slammed deep into Sherlock, coming inside him.  He nearly blacked out with how good it felt, how good to be sheathed in something so warm and twitching and _alive_ and coming until he was absolutely spent inside such a gorgeous creature.

John pulled out after some long moments, grabbing a corner of the sheets to wipe at Sherlock’s come-covered chest and stomach.  Sherlock was soft and pliant on the bed, his hair and makeup an absolute mess.  John flopped down next to him, slowly getting his breath back.  He realized that he wasn’t exactly sure what happened at this point in the exchange.

“Stop thinking.”  Sherlock mumbled sleepily, curling onto his side.  “Just … just give me a few minutes and I’ll be out of your way.”

John smiled to himself.  This boy really was a bit of a wonder.  “Stay as long as you like.”  John said quietly, definitely _not_ adding “stay forever, if you want to.”  

John rolled over and put an arm around Sherlock’s small frame, pulling him in close and spooning up against him.  It was nice, this, just holding someone for a little while, even if every minute of it was possibly costing him what little money he had.

After a few minutes John realized that Sherlock was fast asleep, snoring ever so quietly.  John wondered briefly if it was okay that he was asleep, whether he should wake him or not, but fell asleep himself before he could decide what to do about it.

John woke to the sound of his door opening, sunlight streaming in as best it could through his dingy window.  Sherlock, dressed but with his heels slung over one shoulder slipped out without a word.  John felt a pang of loss, watching him leave, but knew he could see him again if he had enough cash, and if he could find him.  

 _Cash!_ ,  John thought, bolting out of bed and fishing in his discarded trousers for his wallet.  He was shocked when all that was missing was something equivalent to the cab fare it would take to get back to the neighbourhood John had picked him up from.  

None of John’s meager belongings were missing either and, in fact, the laptop on his desk was open and on.  John didn’t remember leaving it on, so he went over to look at the screen.  There was a word document open with only a single line of text and a mobile number:

“ _Anytime, Sir. --SH_ ”

John let himself have a wicked grin as he punched the number into the contact list of his phone under the name ‘Brilliant Shag Sherlock.’  “You’re a very bad man, John Watson.”  he said to himself.


End file.
